


From Two to One We Entertwined

by Cup_of_Lou



Series: Just a Moment in Our Time [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Coffee Shop, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluffy, M/M, One Shot, gotta love some fluff, so much fluff in my mind that its just a bunch of clouds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 02:04:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cup_of_Lou/pseuds/Cup_of_Lou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Larry?” I cocked an eyebrow at him and could faintly see the wrinkles of a smile hidden behind his mug as he drew the ceramic to his lips. “What the fuck is a ‘Larry’, some STD or something? Did you just call Harry and I a disease?”</p>
<p>(Or the AU Oneshot where Harry and Louis are formed into Larry Stylinson)<br/>My tumblr is http://cup-of-lou.tumblr.com</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Two to One We Entertwined

“And what did you tell him?” I took the coffee-tinted rag from under the counter and wiped the scraped wood from yet another rushed customer spilling their drink over the ‘no-spill’ cap. I was still fuming from the complete ignorance the customer had for their mistake, simply continuing to yak into their phone as they turned away from the counter. The woman hadn't even given a tip, and I thrived off the few cents some patrons would spare me, so my harsh feelings towards her could be considered reasonable.

Thankfully, she was the last person of the morning clump who was frantically spilling out their order while simultaneously blabbing to someone on a mobile or a bluetooth. The rest of the coffee shop was surprisingly quiet for a late January Wednesday at nine in the morning, something that set easy with me. We had around ten people, scattered amongst the ratty chairs and cracking-leather booths of the Styles Tea House, and all of whom were in their own little worlds. One of Harry’s slow, lullaby indie band playlists was playing over the speakers, adding to the stereotypical coffee house feel that Harry insisted on upkeeping.

“I told him no, obviously, I don’t do drunk tattoos. I have enough morals and street cred to deny those cunts anyway.” Zayn gave his usual, I-don't-care rise of the shoulders from his spot on the far counter. He was dangling dangerously close to the baked goods, but I knew better than to tell him that and have him scoot his bum closer to the pastries.

He was flipping through some gossip magazine that Harry had just bought for the shop, instead of helping me like he had promised. I knew better than to think he would actually help me in the bakery, only Harry could truly meet the job requirements. Liam always fretted over the tiny details and made himself worry way too much, usually eventing in some large spills and a broken cup here or there. Niall completely forgot about what he was supposed to be doing and spent his time lurking around the pastry cabinet, stealing a treat when he thought I wasn't looking. Zayn, well, Zayn just sat there. He did nothing wrong, but then again, he didn’t do anything anyway. Just drank coffee, read magazines, and hated the occasional customer.

He took a dangerously loud sip of the coffee that had become his hip-hugging friend, breaking the relative silence that was in the room. “Plus I think I can afford booting out a man who wanted a large duck on a stripper pole placed on his back.” He took another loud gulp of the liquid before placing his ‘assigned’ mug back onto the counter. The other patrons seemed to be paying no attention to his loud actions, most of them plugged in to some device. Thank god.

“I wish I could know the story behind that tattoo.” I said aimlessly, throwing the rag back underneath the counter with a satisfying thump. If only the back of the counter could be the woman’s perfectly painted face, then I would be satisfied. “Just imagine how much metaphorical meaning it would have. Like, maybe the duck is his brain’s natural form, and the stripper pole is life, and its like his brain is teasing life.” I caught myself off-guard with my random, totally /Harry/ comment about a drunk tattoo. Thank god he was at home, nursing a cold, and couldn’t hear my random little insight. He would be buckled over laughing, I knew that for sure.

“Mate, your Harry is showing.” Zayn sputtered his laughter as he turned the plastic-like page of the magazine to an article that seemed to catch his interest enough for him to read it. “But, then again, that doesn’t really surprise me. You two are one person anyway. Might as well call you Larry.” He frowned at the page and turned it again. I realized before him that he had flipped through the whole magazine and I had to stifle a laugh when he pouted at the finished magazine, tossing it to the table that was on his right with a small grunt. Why he even bothered with that gossip shit I didn’t know, and why Harry even decided to buy the shit was beyond me.

“Larry?” I cocked an eyebrow at him and could faintly see the wrinkles of a smile hidden behind his mug as he drew the ceramic to his lips. “What the fuck is a ‘Larry’, some STD or something? Did you just call Harry and I a disease?” My voice grew and I had to remind myself that I was at work. I looked over the few people, thankful that they were all plugged into some device and paying no mind to my talk of sexual diseases.

“Not a disease you small-minded twat,” He said after he finished his sip. His eyes focused on me with a delayed eyeroll, “Liam told it to me this morning before I left to come help your miserable self.” He hopped off the counter to put his mug in the sink before returning to his spot with a devious smirk on his lips.

“Please, leave me hanging and without an explanation.” I gave a small shake of the head as he reached into the pastry box for a cookie. Any resistance on my part would only lead to a heated argument, so I allowed for him to munch on the sugar cookie without glaring through his skull too much.

“Don’t be such a pissy pants.” He was referring to my thick pout at both his lack of explanation and his thieving of my sweets. “We were just talking about how you two might as well be one person, with all the overlapping you two have with your personalities. Then Li brought up calling you Larry, Louis and Harry together, because we doubt you two will ever be apart long enough to fully separate your personalities. Hence Larry was born.” He took another enlarged bite of the cookie with his free hand coasting through his limp fringe, lacking its usual height.

“Hmm.” Harry was going to have a hoot when I told him about this, he always found our relationship to be ‘top notch’ as he phrased it to niall. “I guess it is what it is, mate.” I shrugged casually, thankful for the ring of the bell to the front door to alert me to the customer and my convenient subject changer. I gave Zayn one last eye roll before turning to give the person my most dazzling smile, “Welcome to Styles Tea House, what can I get you today?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hazza, I’m home!” I yelled loud enough to shake the patio door in the living room, quick to toe off my shoes and take off my coat and winter apparel. It was snowing again, around the fifth time this year, and I couldn’t feel the tips of my ears from the tips of my nose because of the cold. I hated having to walk the short distance in the winter, it was too short for any mode of transportation yet it was still long enough for me to get my fingers numb.

“I’m on the couch, Lou.” His reply was said with less of everything, excitement and volume and simple being. He was a weak and nasally version of his normal self, and you could blame sinuses for one out of two problems. My poor baby, I thought as I finally pulled myself free from the arms of my thick winter coat. Harry always got sick around this time of year, his flu season as he liked to refer to it as. It was basically a week of runny noses, bone-rattling coughs, and the constant throbbing of his head. A week of my mums homemade soup, copious boxes of tissues, and hours upon hours of shit telly that would turn him to a mind-rotting vegetable.

I checked once again that my snow-packed shoes were on the mat and able to dry before padding my way into the warm living room. I had left him at the grueling hour of six, giving him a short kiss on his clammy forehead before I closed the flat off. In the four hours I had been gone he had since pulled every blanket that he liked out onto the couch and had buried himself contently underneath them all.

“Hi.” He said slowly as I made my way over to the couch, only his head and unruly curls visible from out of the blankets. He looked absolutely miserable, like someone had hit him with a train and given him the strongest case of flu in a hundred years. I looked around and saw the familiar sight of crumpled up tissues and a couple of mugs, now empty, and two bowls that used to be soup.

“You look miserable.” I forced him to stir from his cocoon long enough to duck myself under the warm fortress and snuggle up against him. One thing I loved about my mum was the fact that her immune system was as strong as an ox, meaning I never caught whatever Harry had sadly come down with. I allowed for him to tuck himself into my side, my hands going to smooth down the birdsnest that was situated on his head.

“I feel horrible, Lou.” He whined against my chest, cool breath mixing with a hot body to send chills down my front. “I don't even want to look down at all the tissues I’ve used.” He gave a shaky laugh, because we both knew that there were more than fifty crumpled up balls of used tissue scattered around his radius.

“Trust me babe, you have enough tissues here to fuel a small army.” I had finally flattened a majority of his horrible head of hair, turning now to twist the soft chocolate curls around my fingers to straighten up the mess.

“Why would I fuel an army with used tissues?” He giggled, sniffling sadly against my chest, “Wouldn’t they want some kind of money instead?”

“Not at all babe, haven’t you heard? Harry Styles blows magical boogers. So magical, you can make any wish come true.” I was playing Older Brother Louis right now, I was being obnoxiously childish to a point that Harry usually gave me a gentle slap.

“Well then get up lover boy, gather me some spells because you can get the magical boogers from the source.” And as if to add the comical effect, he gave one long sniffle that lead to him laughing hard enough to bring tears to his eyes.

“You are a goof.” I kissed his head, finally acknowledging the show he was turned too. Just stupid child cartoons, a Harry Styles classic, and something that he had probably been on since i had left.

“But your goof, nonetheless.” His laughter quieted as he sighed against my chest with the tell-tale signs of him falling asleep. It was then, when his breath was growing deeper and deeper by the moment, that I had remembered my previous conversation with Zayn at the bakery.

“You wanna hear something that happened to me today?” I whispered into his ear, hoping he was still awake enough to respond. He let out a long exhale of breath to acknowledge me, still unmoved as he was curled into my chest. “I swear its interesting.”

“I don’t doubt it, Lou.” He hummed out, low and raspy syllables that ghosted into my ears as his slow drawl was even slower by sleep. “‘M just really tired. Being sick really makes me tired. You can tell me from here, right?” I was luck enough to have kept him awake for this long, I was going to take what I could get.

“I guess you can stay laying down.” I shrugged my shoulders before I carded my fingers through his tangled curls. “It happened at the shop today, in the lack of your presence obviously. Everything seems to happen when you’re not there, which is weird. Anyway, me and Zayn were talking about one of his drunk-tattoo denials, some drunk sod who wanted a stripping duck or something, and I made some comment about its metaphorical meaning before I could stop myself. Zayn bursted out laughing, telling me that I said something ‘totally Harry’.” I mocked Zayn's voice, Harry purring out a laugh at the horrible rendition of his Bradford accent.

“I would never try to decipher the metaphorical meaning of a drunk tattoo.” He whined like there was any possibility that he could deny the fact that he was the kind of person to defend the idea of getting a stripping duck on someone's backside. “I’m too classy for drunk tattoo’s.”

“Sure babe,” I remember way too many times where he was pissed out of his mind and wanted cute, couple tattoo’s on our bums. “Anyway, this lead us on a path down ‘HarryandLouis’ lane. Along our long and winding journeys down our relationships past, Zayn brought up us being Larry-”

“What’s a Larry? Some new lingo or something?” Harry gargled into my thigh as he had pressed his cheek into my leg. “It sounds dirty. Like the Simba thing with the sperm.”

“No, its not something dirty. I thought it was a new STD that Zayn made up, but I was wrong too.” Harry let out an annoyed breath. “Supposedly, he and Liam made it up this morning. They said that since we’re basically one person, that forming our two names together would make our new-person name. Thats how they came up with Larry.”

“Larry as in the L from your name and then the rest of mine?”

“I’d think so, makes sense that way.” I laughed at how stupid it was. “Forming names together, really? Could just keep referring to us as HarryandLouis like always.”

“I like it.” He stated, rolling over to look me in the face. “It’s short, plus it makes sense. We basically are one person. Today has been, what, the first day in weeks you’ve been away from me?” I nodded, it was true. This was the first day in three weeks we hadn't been at eachothers hips. Plus it was the first week I had to actually work. “So yeah, we can be Larry Tomlin- no, style- Stylinson! Larry Stylinson!” His energy quickly peaked as he formed our new name, a foolish smile growing wide on his laps.

“Oh my god, no.” I groaned at how happy the new name was making him. “I think its just fueling Zayn even more than he already is.”

“We can morph him and Li together too!” He bounced out of my lap with delayed speed as he looked around for his phone. “What can we call them? Liyn? No sounds like bean, that won't work. How about Ziyn? No, still sounds like bean…” He found his phone and typed in Zayns number.

“Ziam?” I offered. Harry turned towards me with his large smile growing even bigger. “Ziam Mayne?”

“Ziam Mayne!” HE exclaimed, fingers flying over the small keys as he typed out his message. I was in a relationship with a big five year old. “We can be the Ziam Stylinson gang.”

“I don’t think so babe.” The name itself sounded game for mocking.

“Well I think so.” He shrugged me off without a second thought. “We can save people and stuff, proper superhero’s.”

“I still don’t think that’s going to happen.” I laughed as he flicked the phone closed, tossing it on the couch cushion. “Sound a bit wonky.”

“You sound a bit wonky.” His pout morphed into his familiar cheeky grin at his horrible, grade eight answer.

“You are a giant five year old, have I ever told you that?” I opened my arms again as he fell into my lap with a grunt as he collided with my legs.

“I may be a five year old, but i'm /your/ five year old.” I could feel his smirk, knowing he was wearing it even without seeing his face.

“That you are, my love.” That you are.

 

 


End file.
